


Lost and Found

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Background Relationships, Gen, Éponine survives too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the low rustling that first attracted Javert's notice, coming from what looked like a heap of rotting leaves under the foot of the bridge, a brown-grey mass next to the wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlinytheYounger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlinytheYounger/gifts).



> Thanks so much to Stripy for beta-reading.

It was the low rustling that first attracted Javert's notice, coming from what looked like a heap of rotting leaves under the foot of the bridge, a brown-grey mass next to the wall. He was ready to dismiss it as the sound of a rat or some other kind of animal rummaging through the mess, but then he heard another noise: a low, muffled groan.  
  
He stopped, eyeing the heap. His first instinctive thought was that whoever was huddled there was probably not a dangerous criminal and thus not worthy of his time. His next thought was to move on. Then he checked himself. Was that not his old life-long shadowed way of thinking? Had he learned nothing these last few weeks?  
  
The image rose in his mind of Valjean looking at him, eyes soft and serious. Javert gritted his teeth. He knew well enough what Valjean would have done. But he was not Valjean, could never hope to match his kindness or compassion. The sight of the heap – which he now realised was a scrawny body huddled underneath a filthy blanket – filled him with disgust, and the tiny flare of pity was not enough to make up for it.  
  
The heap made another sound, like a groan of pain. Javert hovered, uncertain. Then, his mouth tight, he went to have a look.  
  
As he bent down, the smell of unwashed body and old dirt hit him like a slap to the face, and he could not stop himself from grimacing as he pulled the blanket aside. Under it was a pale, scrawny face, partly hidden by tangles of matted hair. The person – a young girl, it seemed – was half-conscious, but breathing. Somehow she seemed familiar to him. A criminal, perhaps; Javert never forgot a face. He searched through his mind as he pulled down the blanket to see if she was hurt.  
  
Suddenly her eyes went wide open, and she started away from him with a hoarse sound. "Get off me!"  
  
Javert backed off, raising his hands. "Calm down, you fool. I was trying to see if you're hurt," he said, out of his depth and aggravated, wishing he had not chosen to walk past the river to begin with. So this was what came of trying to do good deeds.  
  
The girl scowled, tugging the blanket about herself. "Not more than usual. I have a bad wound, all right?"  
  
As she struggled to sit up, she let out a sound of agony that was stifled just as fast. Javert was at a loss. He was no doctor, and even if he were she did not seem inclined to let him help her. But still. If she was not a wretch, then who was? He stood there awkwardly, wanting to leave and yet he felt he ought not. Valjean's imagined gaze lingered in his mind. _But I'm not you_ , Javert thought helplessly.  
  
She was squinting at him. "You're a copper," she said in her rusty voice, and at that moment he knew who it was: the girl at the barricade. "An inspector. I recognise you. Are you going to arrest me?"  
  
"Did you do anything?" She did not answer, which was just as well. "No? Then you might consider holding your tongue. I'm not here to hurt you."  
  
"What then?" Her scowl turned into a twisted smile. "Are you after other things? I wouldn't have thought so. Not you." She let out a harsh laugh that soon had her wincing with pain. "Just leave me alone."  
  
What, indeed? Javert hesitated still. There was nothing intuitively appealing in the thought of occupying himself further with her. Paris brimmed with homeless wretches. Was he supposed to go about taking care of them all? They were not his responsibility. Furthermore, the girl looked at him with distrust. Would she even come with him if he asked --  
  
"I have a friend," he said abruptly. "He has money, enough to pay for a doctor. You should come with me to him. He wouldn't want me to leave you here." As soon as he said the words, relief filled him, the relief of truth and decisiveness both.  
  
She opened her mouth as if to protest. Then she seemed to fold in on herself. "Fine," she muttered, crossing her skinny arms over her chest and looking away from him. "Might as well. What does it all matter anyway?"  
  
That was a question Javert could not answer in so many words. And yet, as he left her to go out into the street and look for a fiacre, he felt that it did, somehow, matter.  
  
A vehicle was procured and the girl moved into it, her scrawny frame half-lifted and half-carried between Javert and the driver. She slumped into the corner, face turned away, clinging to her blanket like a wealthy woman to her purse. Javert contemplated her for a moment, wondering whether he had lost his mind. Then he thought of Valjean smiling at him, eyes warm and mouth gently curved, and knew the answer.  
  
"Rue de l'Homme-Armé," he said to the driver and climbed in to take his place.  
  



End file.
